Farewell Summer ~ Ray Bradbury - Marimarister

―No, because I know what I did to myself. I‘m only mean in private. I don‘t blame others
for my own mistakes. I‘m bad in a different way than you, of course, with a sense of humor
developed out of necessity.‖ For a moment, Bleak‘s eyes seemed to twinkle, but maybe it was
only the passing sun.
―I‘ll need a sense of humor from here on out. Bleak, visit me more often.‖ Quartermain‘s
gnarled fingers grasped Bleak‘s hand.
―Why would I visit you, you sorry old bastard, ever again?‖
―Because we‘re the Grand Army, aren‘t we? You must help me think.‖
―The blind leading the sick,‖ said Bleak. ―Here we are.‖
He paused at the walk leading up to the gray, flakepainted house.
―Is that my place?‖ said Quartermain. ―My God, it‘s ugly, ugly as sin. Needs paint.‖
―You can think about that, too.‖
―My God, what a Christ-awful ugly house! Wheel me in, Bleak.‖
And Bleak wheeled his friend up the walk toward his house.